


go as slow as you want to

by whensheflies



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, HS1 era, Harry in Panties, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Tenderness, really how did this get so schmoopy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whensheflies/pseuds/whensheflies
Summary: “Don’t tease, Nick,” Harry says. His voice is like gravel and Nick wants to be dragged, bodily, over the sound until he’s covered in the filth of it.Nick swallows down the lump in his throat and looks Harry in the eye, tries to convey emotion he doesn’t quite know how to articulate without giving himself away entirely. “For once in my life, H, I am not teasing. ‘S nice, proper nice.”Pretty, Nick wants to say,pretty like you.Harry scrunches his face and glances away. “I know it’s, like, girly or whatever. But I like it… like the way it makes me feel.”or: a tender HS1 era Gryles fic.
Relationships: Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	go as slow as you want to

**Author's Note:**

> hi, long time no see. so, the first half of this fic was written ages ago and i meant for it to have much more angst and plot. then life got in the way and suddenly it's been years since i've opened up the doc. thankfully, social distancing has given me the time to feel a bit inspired and rework it into something shorter, but hopefully just as sweet.
> 
> hope you enjoy this little bit of gryles tenderness as much as i enjoyed writing it. :)
> 
> viva la quarantine!
> 
> title from liam payne's sweet, sweet jam, "home with you"

***

“Thanks for picking me up,” Harry says as he slides into the passenger seat, “I know it was short notice. I appreciate it.”

Nick swallows down the embarrassment at the memory of how quickly his fingers had tapped out a response to Harry’s incoming text ( _At Heathrow. come get me? xx_ ) a mere hour earlier. Instead of revealing his eagerness again, he turns to his tried and true coping mechanism: sarcasm. “Is that supposed to be your incognito look?” he asks, tilting his head to peer at Harry over his sunglasses.

Harry cuts a casual figure in black Adidas trackies, his Randy’s Donuts hoodie pulled tight around his face. Big, white Gucci sunglasses hide most of his face, making him look like a big, dumb (albeit adorable as fuck) alien. Nick would take the piss out of him if he didn’t find him so damn attractive all the time.

Harry smirks and dimples a bit, ducks his chin to buckle his seatbelt. Nick can’t tell if his smile meets his eyes.

“It’s comfortable,” Harry mumbles, the playful pout evident in his tone. “Besides, it was a private jet. I wasn’t spotted.”

“So posh, we are,” Nick says flatly as he puts the car into drive and starts heading back to his flat. 

It’s easy like this. To hide behind the teasing. Nick’s always been good at that. Anything to keep Harry’s attention on him. He’s always been a bit brash and over the top when it comes to being in the presence of Harry Styles.

Harry snorts through his nose and reaches to twist the volume knob on the radio, killing all conversation.

 _Alright_. So, they’re playing this game. Nick drives and lets Harry take control of his radio even if the constant station changing makes Nick want to slap his hand away from the console. He keeps his eyes on the road in front of him and tries to focus on that instead of the simmering tension lurking just beneath the surface.

The thing is, the last time Nick saw Harry, he was licking Nick’s come off his ringed fingers like it was his last meal on earth.

Nick tightens his grip around the steering wheel and tries not to think about it. 

Try being the operative word here.

It’s just that he and Harry are friends. Best friends, Nick would boast to anyone who’d listen. And up until a few months ago, they weren’t the type of friends who exchanged mutual drunken handjobs in the loo at the pub, while Nick’s friends answered trivia questions just outside. That facet of their friendship was decidedly new. Not that Nick wasn’t opposed. Quite the opposite. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he’d been harboring a little crush on Harry for quite some time. Apparently he’s lying to even himself now. No. He’s wanted Harry for as long as he can remember, but Harry’s never wanted _him._

Or, at least, he’s never let on to Nick about it.

And that’s not to mention Harry’s _Louis_ issues. Best not to think about that at all. That only leads to migraines and stomach aches that Nick will blame on bad sushi to anyone who notices. 

There’s no denying it, Nick cares for Harry. And Harry cares for Nick, just not in the way Nick needs him to. No, that emotion would be reserved for Louis Tomlinson. _The bastard._ Nick doesn’t know the details on who broke whose heart first, doesn’t want to know really. He only knows that Harry had always been just out of reach. Quite literally, until he had Nick pressed up against a dirty bathroom stall door with his hand down Nick’s pants.

Naturally, neither of them mentioned the pub incident again and then Harry was off and away on his first world tour. 

And Nick was alone.

He’d be mortified if anyone knew how easily (and often) he’d gotten off to the memory, the glorious vision, of Harry’s hand on his cock and his breath hot against Nick’s throat in the months since.

It’s been driving him a bit mental to say the least.

But now Harry’s texted him ( _not Louis, thank you very much_ ), months later and out of the blue with no indication as to why or how long. Nick hasn’t a fucking clue what it means.

He finds parking near his flat and kills the ignition, silence engulfing them like a weighted blanket. He braces himself to look over at Harry, unsure as to what he might find in his gaze. Time to bite the proverbial bullet.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of popstar Harry Styles’ presence anyway?” he asks. He has to keep it light. Has to keep it teasing, otherwise he might just fall apart here on a public street.

Harry tucks his sunnies into the pocket of his joggers and rolls his eyes fondly. He shrugs, noncommittal. 

Nick tries not to read too much into it. But, hell, he wants to.

“What? Can’t a man miss his friend and want to see him?” Harry asks, giving as good as he gets.

No, Nick thinks, no. _Not now, when I know what you look like when you come. Friends? Is that what we are? Is that_ all _that we are?_

“I’ve got the fixings for pizza if you’re hungry,” he says instead.

Harry beams at him like there’s nothing awkward or tense or unspoken between them.

And maybe there isn’t. Maybe to Harry it was a one off thing. A lapse in judgement brought on by one too many vodka tonics. Blowing off steam or whatnot. Maybe they don’t have to talk about it. Maybe they can act like it never happened. 

“Cool, I’m starving,” Harry says as he jumps out of the car and slams the door. 

“Cool,” Nick repeats in the deafening silence. He notices that Harry isn’t carrying a bag.

It’s cool; Nick swallows against the lump in his throat and follows after Harry.

***

Nick barely has them in the door to his flat before Harry is on him.

It’s not how he imagined his day going, but he sure as hell isn’t complaining about it now. He’s dreamt about this more than he’ll care to admit. 

Harry crowds against him. Nick’s back hits the door and the force of it punches some of the air from his lungs. 

Harry’s close. So close that Nick can see the flecks of gold in the green of Harry’s eyes, the faint kiss of stubble on his chin and upper lip. Oh, and now he’s staring at Harry’s mouth.

Nick wants. _Fuck_ , he wants.

They didn’t kiss last time and it strikes Nick as a major failing on his part because who could bear to be this close to Harry and not kiss him?

But Nick really doesn’t know what’s happening or what this is, what’s allowed. He doesn’t want to make the wrong move and then be left with nothing. So he settles for reaching out, resting his hands on either side of Harry’s hips, squeezing gently. 

“Hello you,” he whispers, biting down on the smile that’s ever growing in the presence of Harry.

It does the trick, because Harry shifts closer and tucks his face into Nick’s neck, hands fisting into the front of Nick’s jumper. Nick bites back a moan at just the feeling of Harry’s warm breath against him. Honestly. What the fuck. He needs to get a grip and fast.

“Hey,” Nick says again, a bit dumbly, a bit in over his head. He fills in Harry’s blanks with words he probably shouldn’t say aloud. “I missed you, too.”

“Nick,” Harry says and his lips drag against the thin skin just below Nick’s ear, the ghost of a kiss but not quite. “Please.”

Nick feels Harry part his lips on his neck, feels the tip of Harry’s tongue and that’s about when the blood in his brain trying to make sense of his life gives up and goes decidedly south.

“Christ,” he says when Harry sucks a kiss into his neck and it’s pure instinct that makes him pull Harry in by his grip on his hips to bring them flush together. Nick groans and lets his head fall back to the side when he finds Harry half hard against him. He slides his hands to cup Harry’s arse, pulling him closer still, gives an experimental grind of his hips.

“Fuck. _Yes._ ” Harry breathes, hips stuttering forward.

“Harry,” Nick says, eyes slipping closed against the feeling of Harry sliding his thigh between his legs, making the friction even better than before. 

He’s just about to say fuck it and pull Harry in for a kiss when he hears a growl and a yelp and then Harry isn’t touching him anymore. And nothing about this is okay with Nick.

“Ow fucking _ow_!”

Nick’s eyes snap open to see Harry bent double, rubbing at his calf through his joggers. Pig and Stinky come trotting up to him, tails wagging and feigning innocence. Of fucking course.

“Your dogs bit me!” Harry says, exasperated. And it would be more cause for alarm if he didn’t look so damn gorgeous while saying it, lips a deep pink from being against Nick’s throat.

Nick can’t help but smile, crouching down to pet them. Pig licks at his chin and honestly, who could stay mad at that face?

“They were protecting me from my attacker.”

Harry snorts and stands upright again, hands on his hips. He smiles guiltily. “You liked it, though.”

It’s not a question. Nick knows that Harry knows he’s one hundred percent receptive to his advances, but still he wants to deny it. Call it self preservation. Nick rolls his eyes.

“Rule number one: greet the pups first. If they don’t like you, they’ll make your life hell.”

Harry does as he’s told and Nick pointedly does not think about how easily Harry obeys. He watches as Harry steps closer to Nick and the dogs. Always friendly, Pig makes her way over, sniffing at Harry’s fingers, but Stinky stays put by Nick’s feet. He even growls a little. Nick can’t help but chuckle at his little guard dog and the way Harry’s face falls a little bit in defeat.

“Better yet,” he says, catching Harry’s eye, “Food is the way to this one’s heart. If you give them their dinner, you’ll be their new best friend.”

_And they’ll leave us alone for fifteen minutes and maybe I can snog you proper like I should’ve done years ago._

“Lead the way, then,” Harry says like he doesn’t know his way around Nick’s flat.

“Come on, pups,” Nick says, patting his thigh. The dogs run off towards the kitchen, too smart for their own good.

And if Nick presses his hand to the small of Harry’s back to guide him through a flat he’s been in countless times, no one has to know but the two of them. Besides, Harry doesn’t push him off, so Nick counts it as a point in his favor.

Nick watches while Harry dumps kibble into the two bowls for the dogs. He checks himself right quick at the domestic fantasies that cloud his vision. This isn’t what this is. Even if Nick isn’t quite sure what it is, it isn’t _that_. But still, Harry looks good here. Cozy and casual in Nick’s kitchen so different to his flamboyant stage presence. It’d be so easy to get lost in the fantasy of having Harry here, at home, with him. Nick can’t stop himself from fawning a bit when Harry coos at his babies, patting their heads before leaving them to their dinner. It’s all a bit too much for him, makes his chest feel a little tight. Absolutely ridiculous.

When Harry turns back towards Nick, his stare is dark. _Bedroom eyes_ , Nick thinks, half out of his mind. Is this what it feels like to be seduced by Harry Styles? Christ, he needs to get a grip.

“Where were we?” Harry asks, stepping around the kitchen island to stand in front of Nick.

Nick leans back against the kitchen counter, needs the press of the countertop against his back to steady himself against the weight of Harry’s stare. “Pizza, I think,” Nick says. Idiot. Really? It’s like he doesn’t want this when he knows it’s exactly the opposite.

Harry scrunches his nose at him. He places his hands on the counter on either side of Nick’s body, caging him in. “Nick,” he growls, “Fuck the pizza.”

Right. Of course. Nick’s brain finally catches up with the rest of him, realizes he’s so close to Harry again. His eyes flick down to Harry’s mouth. All he’d have to do is just tilt forward and close the space between them. He wants to know if his lips are as soft as they look. He wonders what Harry tastes like. “Alright,” he whispers.

Harry smirks. “Alright,” he echoes and drops to his knees right there in Nick’s kitchen.

Nothing could prepare Nick for the sight of Harry on his knees. For him.

His breath catches in his throat when Harry slides his hands up his thighs to work at the button and zip of his jeans.

“You want this, right? Tell me you want me.” Harry says, eyes flicking up to Nick.

“Who _wouldn’t_ want this?” Nick says. He means it as a compliment, a fond tease for the hot commodity popstar. But once the words are out, Nick knows he’s made a misstep. 

Harry’s hands still on his jeans, his face falls just the slightest bit. It probably wouldn’t be enough for the casual observer to notice, but Nick, try as he might, has never been casual about Harry.

Fuck. Leave it to Nick to bring up Louis _fucking_ Tomlinson at time like this. He knows that’s what it is. Instead of telling Harry just how desperately he wanted him, he asked the question that put that far off sadness in Harry’s eyes and the slight downturn of his lips.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Nick’s heard the album. 

He swallows around the lump in his throat, realizing what this is. It shouldn’t sting, not with Harry on his knees in front of him, but being someone’s second choice isn’t the greatest feeling in the world. For a sick moment, Nick lets his mind go there. He wonders if the reason Harry keeps turning to him is because he’s so readily available. Calls never ignored, text answered immediately, practically gagging for it. His eagerness makes it easy. 

Maybe if he’d not picked up the phone so often, the songs would be about him.

“Harry,” Nick says, tries to pour unspoken remorse into the words, “Of course I want this.”

 _Of course I want you, darling,_ he wants to say, _But do you want this?_

He doesn’t get to think on it further, because his encouragement seems to be all Harry needs before he’s pulling Nick’s jeans and pants to the floor. Nick doesn’t do much thinking after that, more focused on the immediate wet heat of Harry’s mouth on his cock. Christ, it’s better than anything his lonely brain could come up with anyway.

Harry sucks cock like he was born to do it and Nick puts all his energy into holding still and not fucking forward into Harry’s mouth. Not that he thinks Harry would mind in the slightest, but the moment still feels fragile and tremulous. He settles for sliding a hand into Harry’s short curls, fingers tangling a bit. 

Harry moans at that and the vibration goes right to Nick’s cock. 

“Fuck Harry, so good,” he babbles, “You’re so good.”

He watches Harry’s eyes slip closed, eyebrows coming together a little bit. It’s then when he notices Harry pressing a hand to the front of his own joggers. And fucking hell, that’s a lot. It’s so good and Nick knows he’s not going to last. Knowing that Harry’s getting off just from sucking his cock is too much to bear.

Harry pulls back a bit, sucking hard on the head of Nick’s cock. His free hand wrapped around it, sliding easily from his saliva. 

Nick tugs gently at Harry’s hair in warning. “I’m gonna-”

But then he feels Harry’s tongue press against the slit of his cock and Nick can only throw back his head as his orgasm hits him like a truck, coming harder than he’s ever come in his life. Harry sucks him through it, only giving him up reluctantly when Nick hisses from the sensitivity. Nick struggles to catch his breath, running his hand through Harry’s hair where he rests his head against Nick’s bare hip.

“Hey,” Nick says finally, breaking through the haze of his orgasm. He tugs at Harry’s shoulder. “Let me get you off.”

Harry huffs a breath against him, presses a quick kiss against Nick’s lower stomach before looking up at him. “I kind of already-”

He looks a bit sheepish, but it’s the hottest thing Nick’s ever seen. “Bloody hell, Styles, you’re too much.”

Harry grins and sinks his teeth into the same place that he kissed a moment before. Nick yelps and tries to shove him off. “Get up here,” he says gently. And really. Why haven’t they kissed? There’s nothing more he wants right now than to wipe that dopey smile off Harry’s face with his own mouth.

“Actually,” Harry says, drawing the word out slow and low, “I kinda want that pizza now.”

Nick watches as Harry climbs to his feet and goes in search of food. Nick stares at Harry’s back while he rummages through the refrigerator. He runs his hands through his hair, knows he’s standing there like an idiot with his jeans around his ankles, but what the fuck? He’s at a complete loss for words. 

“Spinach and artichoke sound alright to you?” Harry asks without looking back at him.

In a daze, Nick tugs up his pants, shakes his head. “Yes, H, that sounds alright.”

***

A belly full of pizza and a movie and a half later finds Nick with Harry’s feet in his lap and still no inclination as to what the fuck is going on in his head. After his own head had cleared, he’d shooed Harry out of his kitchen, telling him to make himself at home and to change into something that wasn’t come-stained joggers. Anything to give his brain (his heart, _jesus_ ) a moment’s respite to process the fact that whatever this thing that’s happening between them was _actually_ happening. He didn’t think Harry would take it upon himself to _shower_.

So. He may or may not have spent the entirety of The Notebook watching Harry’s damp hair curl around his ears. Sue him. How could he possibly focus on anything else when he can smell his own bodywash on Harry’s skin? He’s not quite sure he’s going to survive the night if he’s being honest.

Harry shifts his bare feet in Nick’s lap, barely missing the semi that Nick is desperately trying to keep under control. 

“Nick,” Harry says, “my feet are cold.” The pout in his tone is decidedly overdramatic, but Nick willingly falls for it. God, when did it get this bad? Had he always been so weak to Harry’s whims?

Nick grasps at one of Harry’s ankles to keep him from squirming further, presses in on his ankle bone just a touch. “Are you morally opposed to socks then? You’ve helped yourself to everything else of mine, why not some socks as well?” 

He lets his eyes wander from Harry’s feet up to his face, noticing Harry’s guilty smile. His dimples crater his cheeks and Nick is, well, Nick’s barely existent resolve is crumbling to dust. He lets out a shaky sigh. “Fine,” he says, wrapping his hands around Harry’s feet warming them, “Happy now, popstar? Is this something that’s on your tour rider then? Personal human foot warmer? Should I apply for the position? Think I’d be good for it with hands like these.”

“Shut up,” Harry snorts and wiggles more, feet pressing into Nick’s lap. 

It’s a lot. Nick’s never considered a foot kink before, but Harry’s got him losing his goddamn mind right now. He squeezes at Harry’s arches gently, hears Harry’s sharp intake of breath and decidedly ignores it. Instead, he pinches one of Harry’s toes between his thumb and forefinger. They’re painted a soft baby blue and something inside of Nick goes a bit soft at the sight as well. 

“These are cute,” he says, wiggling one of Harry’s toes. He glances over to look at Harry. Harry’s got a weird look on his face, a delicate blush high on his cheeks. Nick’s almost positive that Harry’s a little bit embarrassed and no, that won’t do at all.

“Don’t tease, Nick,” Harry says. His voice is like gravel and Nick wants to be dragged, bodily, over the sound until he’s covered in the filth of it. 

Nick swallows down the lump in his throat and looks Harry in the eye, tries to convey emotion he doesn’t quite know how to articulate without giving himself away entirely. “For once in my life, H, I am not teasing. ‘S nice, proper nice.” _Pretty,_ Nick wants to say, _Pretty like you._

Harry scrunches his face and glances away. “I know it’s, like, girly or whatever. But I like it… like the way it makes me feel.”

Taking a steadying breath, Nick loosens his grip on Harry’s foot and slides his hands up to Harry’s bare calf. He silently thanks whatever deity he can for Harry choosing a pair of his old shorts instead of joggers. The moment feels tremulous and he doesn’t want to do anything to spook Harry from being this vulnerable with him. “Hey,” he says, tracing his thumb over the light dusting of hair on Harry’s leg, “you don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to. But if you want you? I’d never judge. It’s pretty, H, I mean it. If we’re being completely honest, and you _know_ how much I hate that,” Nick blows out a breath. _In for a penny, then_. “It’s kind of turning me on. You’re making me a bit mental, H.”

Harry’s staring at him with an intensity that would probably scare off the fainter at heart, but Nick’s never been afraid of Harry. Only his own feelings for him. The moment drags out too long for Nick’s liking, feels like all the air in the room has turned to liquid fire. Feels like he’s drowning in the weight of his own honesty. But he can’t be the first to break this weighted staring contest between them.

“Darling,” Nick says, ignoring the crack in his voice, “don’t leave me hanging out to dry like this.”

Harry’s mouth slips open, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. Nick can’t help but track the movement. Again, the fact that they’ve never kissed isn’t lost on him. 

But then, Harry breaks the silence. And quite possibly breaks Nick in the process. 

“And if I told you that I’ve been wearing women’s knickers would that turn you on as well?”

There’s not an ounce of teasing in Harry’s voice or demeanor and Nick can’t fucking breathe. Can’t fucking handle how hard he is from Harry’s disclosure. Knows that there’s no coming back from this; he’s diving headfirst into this--whatever this is-- risking heartbreak and god knows what else. 

“I think,” Nick pauses, heart beating wildly in his chest, “I think I’d have to see, you know, just to be sure.”

“Nick,” Harry breathes. He says his name like a benediction, like he’s worth something. Like he’s everything. 

Nick’s not quite sure if Harry is asking or giving permission, but his eyes are wide and green and unfathomable. Nick follows the heavy rise and fall of Harry’s chest, clearly just as affected as himself. Something comes loose inside of Nick, then, and his brain goes on an endless loop: yes. yes. _yes._

He doesn’t know who moves first, only that he’s suddenly got a lap full of Harry. A desperate moan escapes him when Harry runs his fingers through his hair, blunt nails scratching his scalp. For a split second, he thinks about Harry with baby blue painted fingernails too, but the thought vanishes the moment Harry grabs hold of his hands and guides them to his own arse.

Nick slips his hands inside the waistband of Harry’s shorts, reveling in the heat radiating off Harry’s skin. When his fingertips graze against lace and silk, he can’t escape the, “fuck, H,” that falls from his lips. He wants to close his eyes against the feeling, but how could he possibly? When Harry is staring at him, looking like he could come apart with just one touch from Nick.  
And well, that’s a thought, isn’t it? But Nick doesn’t want to limit himself to just one.

He traces the lacy trim of Harry’s panties, slips his fingers underneath the silk and fills his hands with Harry. Squeezes.

Harry makes a noise that is positively pornographic and bucks into Nick’s touch before dropping down into his lap, grinding down shamelessly. He tucks his face into the side of Nick’s neck, his mouth is wet and open against Nick’s skin, not quite a kiss, not quite enough. But he’s working his hips against Nick in a slow, but steady rhythm that prevents Nick from doing much thinking at all.

“Harry, darling, I’m going to come if you keep up with that.” His voice comes out airy and high and Nick would laugh at himself if he wasn’t so desperately turned on.

“Yes,” Harry breathes, pressing open mouthed kisses all over Nick’s throat, “Want you to.”

Nick laughs, lets his fingers explore further. He hisses when he feels Harry’s teeth on his earlobe. “Christ. What’s gotten into you?”

“You, ‘m hoping.”

Nick stills, holds his breath. He pulls his hands from Harry’s shorts to grip his waist. Harry lifts his head from Nick’s neck to look down at him. His mouth is red from Nick’s stubble and he already looks so debauched. 

“What are we doing?” Nick asks. He feels like his chest could crack open at any moment from sheer wanting. But he has to know. 

“Thought that was obvious.” Harry says, the left side of his mouth tugging up into a naughty smirk.

Nick can’t help it, slides a hand up to thumb at Harry’s dimple. Harry dips his head to lick and nip at Nick’s thumb and that’s much too distracting. So Nick moves his hand to cradle Harry’s jaw. He knows it’s too tender, but he needs Harry to understand. He can’t believe he’s going to turn down sex with Harry fucking Styles because of Feelings. “I’m serious, H. I need to know. If this is just going to be some one off thing like the pub, I-- I… fucking hell. It means too much for me to have it be that. _You_ mean too much to me.”

Harry’s eyes widen a touch before reaching out, letting his hands rest on either side of Nick’s neck. Nick feels the slight tremor in them and, _oh_.

“You think I don’t want you? Nick.” Harry blows out a breath, clearly affected. “I know I’m not, like, the best with communication. I’m working on it, I am. Got a therapist in LA. Shit, this is not sexy at all. I’m killing the mood, aren’t I?”

“Not at all, love.” Nick can’t help but grin. Instead of him being alone on the edge of the cliff, for once he doesn’t feel alone. He can feel Harry right beside him. It’s terrifying but he knows they’ll be alright. Together.

“I want you, Nick. I _have_ wanted you. I wanted you even when I was with--” Harry cuts himself off abruptly. 

Nick doesn’t need to hear it out loud. The name unspoken is confession enough and it rocks him to his core. Really, how could he have been so blind to it? Did the weight of his own yearning blind him to the fact that Harry had actually felt the same all along? God, they’ve wasted so much time. _So much time._

Nick nods, wordlessly acknowledging what’s unsaid between them. He feels the telltale prick of tears at his eyes, overcome by the emotional weight of this moment.

“It’s embarrassing to admit how long I’ve wanted you, Nick. That’s why I thought I could just...show you instead,” Harry says sheepishly.

“What’s more embarrassing is that it’s been mutual.” Nick deadpans.

Harry grins and it’s full of hope and so, so beautiful that it takes Nick’s breath away. “Since the beginning?” Harry asks.

“Yes, you idiot, but I was so much older than you and yet you still made me feel so out of my depths. Thought I could just be content with being your friend.”

“Who’s the idiot now?” Harry giggles, tugging on the hair at the back of Nick’s neck.

“Harry, if you don’t kiss me right the fuck now, I’ll--”

“Please,” Harry begs, closing the space between them, swallowing the rest of Nick’s words. 

Their mouths meet in a kiss long time coming. Nick’s eyes slip shut instantly against the feeling, the tender press of Harry’s lips against his is better than he could’ve ever imagined. It’s like they were always meant to be this way. Nick has a moment of regret, thinking about wasted time, because how could he have been missing out on this for years? But when Harry parts his lips and their tongues touch, Nick decides he’s done with the past. It’s the here, the now, the boy in his lap that he loves so, so dearly that matters. Being in the moment and kissing Harry is the happiest he’s ever been and he’s going to cling to that. Make it last forever if Harry’ll have him.

“Take me to bed. Please.” Harry whispers against Nick’s mouth. Both of them smiling too hard to kiss properly anymore.

“Yeah, alright, popstar. Let’s go.” Nick answers.

And they go.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fictional nonsense, please validate me with love in the form of kudos and comments.
> 
> and reblog my [Tumblr fic moodboard.](https://choface.tumblr.com/post/615139070414356480/go-as-slow-as-you-want-to-by-choface)


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